We’ve had one of those today.
I’ve left Rachel and Darren’s, and I’m back on the road again, heading South-West, and that of course takes me over the border into Great Satan.
Just for a change, I crossed over the border at River du Chute, a tiny little part-time border crossing up near my piece of land, where I woke up the border guard. It’s clear, in some internal staff regulation somewhere, that border patrols have to give “the works” to a certain number of border-crossers every hour, and so when you haven’t had anyone across your border for three weeks, then this is your one chance in a lifetime to take out the thumb-screws.
This interrogation included the legendary conversation –
Border Guard “Why are you crossing over here?”
Our Hero “Why not?”
BG “Where have you come from?”
OH “Centreville”
BG “So why didn’t you cross over there?”
OH “Because I wanted to cross over here”
And so we then had the full search of the Dodge. I suppose it might have been different had I answered the questions differently, but seriously, just how DO you answer questions like that and keep a straight face? It was also the first time that I have ever been asked to show my driving licence.
But if anyone wants a finer example of the fear and paranoia that is gripping the citizens of the United States, you son’t eed to look further than this. It was just like trying to cross the border into the Soviet Union back in the 1970s and I’m waiting for someone in authority in the USA to admit that maybe the Soviets had a point. 50 years of destroying Communism and then they install the worst aspects of it in their own country.
Pillarks.
But anyway, having manipulated my way across the border and inspected the old cars and tractors, and manoeuvred my way around the Mennonite horse buggy convoys transporting the corn that they have been harvesting, I was off on the next stage of my adventures.
At Presque Ile I built up the supplies again, and I also bought a new bed. This bed is really nice and comfortable but it’s rather Heath-Robinson and extremely difficult to manoeuvre around, and impractical when there’s more than one of you in the vehicle. And as well as that, having been screwed and unscrewed so many times, the fixture is weakening. However today, at Walmart they were selling a real “Coleman” folding camp-bed with mattress, and I don’t mean one of these cheap and nasty cots but a proper lightweight bed with springing and the like, and all for $50. That’s much more convenient and easy to store.
Now what I’m doing is heading to Albany in New York because I want to go back to Montreal via Lake Champlain and the Richelieu Valley, the route of the “Last of the Mohicans”, and so I’ve drawn a straight line on the map between the two points and I’m doing my best to follow it.
This route is producing some stunning scenery, not the least of which is this early Triumph Herald 948 convertible. When was the last time that you saw one of these in the UK, never mind anywhere else? I didn’t know that they exported these to North America, and this one is Left-Hand Drive, as you can see.
But it shows you the demise of the British motor industry when just 50 years ago they were selling all kinds of marginal products to different places all around the world, and 10 years ago they couldn’t even sell anything in their own country. I can’t recall any other manufacturing base that has collapsed so quickly and so completely.
My route has also taken me over the 100-mile dirt-track Highway 159 into the Baxter State Park and it’s here that I’m staying the night. And it was here that my good fortune ran out because not only was I nabbed for the gate fee, I was also nabbed for the campsite fees. Still, the first this year after all of the “visiting” that I had done to date. I’m not complaining too much.
Anyway, it might only be 19:30 but I am totaly whacked, so I’ll see you all again in the morning.
But that wasn’t how the day started. In fact it started off rather well for a change, with the sun suddenly and dramatically bursting through the cleft in the hills just opposite last night’s spec. 
. Blasted sewage pumping wagon wouldn’t pull over (as you can see by his tyre path) “there were overhanging branches” apparently, and having to swerve to take avoiding action, I ended up in the ditch.
I could now get on my way and a little further down the road here I encountered the first snows of winter 2013. High up in the mountains yes, but first snows all the same and this is looking ominous for the winter, isn’t it? Snow already!
Greenville is the principal town on Moose Head Lake, and if you want to know why the lake is so called, look at the photo just here. Definitely a moose head, that.